The poet is he that hath fat enough, like bears and marmots, to suck his claws all winter.

A farmer, a hunter, a soldier, a reporter, even a philosopher, may be daunted; but nothing can deter a poet, for he is actuated by pure love.

Who can predict his comings and goings? His business calls him out at all hours, even when doctors sleep.

We begin to praise when we begin to see a thing needs our assistance.

I know of no redeeming qualities in myself but a sincere love for some things, and when I am reproved I fall back on to this ground.

It is an interesting question how far men would retain their relative rank if they were divested of their clothes.

If anything ail a man, so that he does not perform his functions, if he have a pain in his bowels even,- for that is the seat of sympathy,-he forthwith sets about reforming the world.

There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the root.

To regret deeply is to live afresh.

Those whom we can love, we can hate; to others we are indifferent.